J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

I’m lost in the feeling of his strong body pinning mine. Assaulted by mental images of what’s to come, anticipation floods my body. The sharp pinch of his teeth at my ear clears my thoughts.

“Nod if you hear me, baby.”

I nod again and he rewards me with a long firm thrust of his hips. “Atta girl.”

My head falls back and to the side, opening up my neck in submission to him. He takes my offer and dives in, licking and sucking until I’m writhing with need. Goose bumps race up my arms, and I imagine all the places I wish he’d move his attention to.

“Fuck, you taste so damn good.” He pulls my skin between his lips with a fierce suction that I feel in my nipples. “Bet you taste even better down here.” He bends his knees and thrusts between my legs.

“Yes!” I slam my mouth shut, biting back my reaction as it dissolves into a moan.

His hands flex against mine. “I was hoping you’d test me.”

He nudges my ankles farther apart and I gladly step them wide. His knee slides in tight between my legs with a firm pressure. So close to where I need him, but not quite there. The tease is maddening.

“Fuck, you’re burning up down here.” He presses in, slides his leg back then forward, creating delicious friction. “So damn sexy.”

Moving his hands together above my head, he grips both my wrists with one hand, freeing up one of his own. Please, touch me.

I rub my breasts against the solid door, hoping to relieve some frustration, but it only cranks me higher.

“I’ve got you.” His free hand slides at my belly between me and the door. He tucks his hand beneath my shirt and glides it up to my bra. “I knew your skin would feel like this. Soft.”

I want to scream at the top of my lungs for him to touch me, pinch me, hurt me. I don’t care. Just put me out of this misery. Instead I wait, panting to the point of hyperventilation as I give him control.

He glides his fingers along the wire cup of my bra, and just like with his knee, he’s so close.

A tiny growl of frustration escapes my throat, and he chuckles against my back.

“You trust me?”

I nod, over and over, big and exaggerated. Hell yes, I trust you! Put your damn hands on me!

He curves his fingers beneath the cup of my bra and pulls it up to completely expose one breast. I bite my lip to avoid crying out in pleasure.

He cups my breast with his hand, molding it and making it his. “Perfect.”

His powerful thigh is pressed in firmly between my legs, his big hand wrapped around my breast, held captive by him, and I’m overcome with sensation. I turn away from him at my shoulder and press my forehead against the door. He rewards me by scissoring my nipple between his fingers, back and forth, back and—Oh yeah, it’s coming.

I push back, rolling my hips against his thigh, searching for the right combination of pressure. He steps in tighter, probably trying to keep me still, but it’s too late. He’s brought me to the brink with his orgasm-inducing domination combined with his barely there touch. The contrast is intoxicating. Beautiful.

“Mac . . .” It sounds like a warning, but I’m too close to slow now.

His fingers grow tight around my nipple, and the shock of pain sends a blinding wave of pleasure between my legs. I arch my back, pressing into his hand for more while simultaneously shifting my hips so I can get his thigh where I need it.

Just . . . a little . . . closer.

I whimper in frustration, and in an instant, I lose his hand. “No—”

My protest is cut off by a gasp when he cups me between my legs. “You come when I tell you to.” It doesn’t sound like a demand, but a request. “I need it like this.” His long fingers dig in. So good, so, so good. “Nod if you understand?”

Was that a question? I’m desperate. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, especially now.

I nod and immediately feel the pinch of his teeth at my shoulder. He groans against me as his fingers press against my jeans.

“More . . .” Dammit, I know he doesn’t want me to talk, but I’m so close.

His tongue glides up my neck to my jaw and his breath heaves. The thunder of his heart pounds against my back, and for the first time, I realize he’s just as worked up as I am.

My hands tug against his hold, but he doesn’t let them go. I grind my hips down onto his hand, rolling in waves. More. Just a little bit more.

He moans, low and primal and so damn hot. “Fuck it.” He pops the button of my jeans and slides his hand down first inside the denim and then beneath the lace of my panties.

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes slam shut.

“Aw, hell.” He grinds his hard-on against my ass in perfect time with the thrust of his fingers.

I fantasize that he’s braced above me, his tattoos dancing over muscles that coil and flex with every plunge of his hips. I imagine him dipping down to take my mouth, our tongues sliding together as we drink every last drop from one another. The powerful command he’d have over his body as he slams into me again, and again, and even harder before—My belly tightens and my toes curl.

“Oh my . . .” I throw my head back as the orgasm rips through my body. Blinding light flashes behind my eyelids as the intensity of it wracks me with jolts of pleasure. Heat washes over me in wave after wave of euphoria.

Slowly coming back into my body, I’m aware of Rex’s hand, no longer between my legs, but splayed against my belly. His thigh is back, pushed in tight and supporting my weight. He’s holding me up.

Every muscle feels like Jell-o, so I allow his assistance and fall back into his support. He releases my hands and the tingling of blood rushing back to my extremities is oddly heady.

I’m falling softly back to earth, awareness coming back to my body and mind.

All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and give him complete control. Instead I forced him—not so forcefully—to get me off. My cheeks flame. How could I be so selfish?

“Rex, I’m . . . I messed up, didn’t I?”

He buries his face into my hair and breathes in deep, but doesn’t answer.

“Rex?” I can feel the pound of his heart, erection still rock hard, and his heavy breathing against my back. “Babe, talk to me.”

Nothing.

Rex

What have I done? So consumed by the lure of Mac’s body and the gentle sounds falling from her lips, I was out of my mind with need. Even now, my arms wrapped tight around her and my thigh firmly snuggled between her legs, her body calls to mine.

Nausea savagely slices through my gut. I swallow to push down the sour burn in the back of my throat. I lost control. The evidence of that is standing proudly and pressed against her lower back. It throbs with awareness. We’re alone. My bed is just yards away from where we’re standing. I bite my lip to keep from rocking my hips and giving in to be consumed by the aftermath of my sickness.

The stabbing pain in my gut twists. No. I can’t do that to her. The best thing I can do is get her away from me before I do something stupid.

“You’re scaring me.” Her soft-spoken words spear through me, adding to the shame.

God, she must think I’m a freak. Slamming her against the wall face first, holding her body captive. I fucked this up. My one chance, the opportunity to feel normal with a girl who doesn’t shy away from my quirks, and I messed it up, dirtied what we had by losing my shit.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t pull back from the heat of her body, afraid of the fear and disappointment I’ll see in her eyes.

She lightly runs her hand against my forearm. Cautious. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Her other hand reaches back, curling around the back of my head. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re okay.”

Her words wash over me, and I exhale a shaky breath. She continues to comfort me in firm and stable strokes of her hands. My muscles respond, relaxing a fraction with every pass of her tiny hands.

“I want to hold you. Can I turn around?”

Tension returns to my shoulders. Hold me?

“Let me help you.”

Help me what?

Knowing I can’t keep her pressed against the door all night, I drop my hands from her belly and step back. I can’t bear to look at her, so I study my socked feet. I feel a tiny shift in the air and know she’s turned around and looking at me. I’ve never felt a stronger urge to crumble beneath the weight of a person’s eyes.

“Rex, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me?” The anger that laces her words seems misplaced.

Confusion, I’d understand. Disappointment, maybe. But anger?

“I . . .” Fuck! What can I say? I don’t want her to be mad.

“Look at me,” she says, the thickness in her demand is unmistakable.

As much as her body responded to my touch and she begged for more, she couldn’t possibly want me, not like that. I hook my finger into the elastic band at my wrist and snap it hard. I pull my chin up and give her my eyes. It’s what she deserves after what I did. Her narrowed eyes study my wrist. I snap the elastic again and she jerks.

“What are you . . .?” She gives me her eyes, and I force myself to hold her stare. She looks scared, but not of me, more like for me. “Please tell me you don’t regret what happened between us.”

Regret? No. I’d suffer the internal war that wages every time I touch Mac just so I could feel her, but the battlefield is a bloody mess in the wake of all that happened. The shame and guilt that rises up from nowhere reminds me how sick I am. It screams that I’m not good enough for anyone, especially her.